


Raindrops on Roses

by Elialys



Series: Trickling Down the Hourglass [4]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Making Love, Smut, You get the idea, although it's just that, i'm more inclined to tag it, i'm reluctant to tag this PWP, i'm sappy and those two are just soft okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 13:07:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20815658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elialys/pseuds/Elialys
Summary: "His fingers trail her skin, first, starting at her shoulders, moving slowly downward, inducing more shivers that have little to do with cold, this time, feeling the unmistakable tug of anticipation twists at her insides. It’s not the nervous kind, already too familiar with his touch to be nervous still, but there is a definite…thrill, at the thought of everything else that remains unfamiliar, not knowing yet what his next moves will be.And she loves this, this irrefutable certainty that he is here with her, and here to stay; that they have years and years stretching in front of them, thousands of days left for her to learn all of his moves, while he learns all of hers.But this, right here, right now, is still somewhat new."Missing scene from Calluses, in which the Doctor and Rose warm each other up after getting caught in the rain.





	Raindrops on Roses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itslauram](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itslauram/gifts).

> In case you weren't aware, writing smut isn't the easiest thing to do. At least it's not for me. So this was me, casually spending a few hours of my weekend procrastinating marking books by practising writing smut just for the fun (hahaaa!) of it. 
> 
> Technically, this very much is a missing scene from Calluses, taking place right after the end of [Chapter 9](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18287873/chapters/44786932), aka the Doctor and Rose making out in the rain. This is what happens when they go back inside.
> 
> I dedicate this story to Laura, because absolutely everyone needs a fandom BFF who tells them "Of COURSE it is okay to just go back to a completed story and add smut scenes to it. Just f*ck it and write it already, I need my smut!!" 
> 
> Thank you, Laura.

There comes a point when kissing in the rain becomes more wet than anything else. 

What was a chilly breeze not so long ago has also morphed into cold wind, their clothes soaked with water. And yet, lost in the feel of him, her body pressed so tightly against his with his fingers knotted in her hair, it is a while before Rose realises he’s shivering, noticing it more than she notices her own reaction to their dropping body temperature. When both their frames shake with shudders that have little to do with lust – something they still do with impressive synchronicity, they break apart, looking at the other through narrowed eyes as rain pours down on them.

The Doctor looks _drenched_, his usually-unruly hair flat and slick upon his head, his very human clothes sticking tightly to his skin. As they squint at each other through the falling rain, it only takes her a second to understand that the faint sound she’s hearing through the pouring water comes from his teeth, which have begun to chatter.

And yet, despite all the physical discomfort he must be experiencing, his gaze is unwavering, staring at her as if he had no real awareness of the rain and the wind. This is the kind of gaze that could easily convince Rose to remain out here and resume their kissing, that _heat_ he ignites in her impermeable.

Unreachable.

Her body does not entirely approve, however, shuddering again while her own teeth chatter away, louder than his, now, a reaction that finally helps him refocus properly, and he frowns in mild concern when he takes in the state of her. Without a word, he reaches down for her hand, intertwining their fingers, before giving them a familiar squeeze, followed by a tug.

The next instant, they are running.

At this pace, their trek back to the inn does not take long, although that short journey remains rather wet and uncomfortable, the rain refusing to let up. A trail of water follows them inside the building, both of them ignoring the new set of looks thrown their way – they’ve been getting a bit of a reputation, these past three days, already known amongst patrons and employees alike as ‘that obnoxious, ill-mannered man’ and ‘that woman who laughs too much’, or more recently as ‘the couple that can regularly be found snogging in hallways and staircases’.

There is no laughing nor snogging this time, merely a great deal of rain water shed by soggy clothes and shoes, the two of them quickly making their way back up to their room and its blissful privacy.

None of them is exactly ‘pragmatic’, generally speaking, but of the two of them, Rose tends to take on the role of the more ‘reasonable one’ whenever absolutely necessary. Which is why she’s actually thinking about how a hot shower might be a good idea, since it will most definitely help chase their chill away.

She never gets to voice her suggestion.

The moment the door closes, the Doctor pins her to it, his fingers already back in her hair, his body firm against hers, and she feels the cold, sodden fabric of her own clothes pressing into her skin. He quickly distracts her from the uncomfortable sensation, his lips resuming what they were doing outside only minutes ago, soon joined by his tongue, kissing her with an equal amount of longing and physical pressure. Rose cannot do anything but yield, twisting the soaked fabric of his jumper into tight fists over his sides, causing water to trickle between her fingers.

The next time they briefly break apart for air, their loud inhales and exhales are interjected with more teeth chattering; the growing heat between them is obviously not enough for their warm-blooded physiology.

Feeling the strong tremors that shake his body as it attempts to warm itself up, Rose fully expects the Doctor to start _ranting_ about this, maybe lament his lost ability to regulate his inner temperature, the way he’s already ranted about a few aspects of his new body. The man loves to babble, that is a fact, having not much in form of a filter when it comes to whatever is gushing out of his mouth…nor does he care much about what they’re doing when he delves into one of those long rants.

From what he’s told her these past few days, Rose knows the excessive amount of endorphin that is currently to be found in his blood is not helping with that particular trait of his. While he’s been making an effort and is getting better at shutting up when they’re making love, for example, he’s still prone to random comments and statements, incapable of keeping his thoughts to himself. It does exasperate her at times, but overall, she’s mostly amused by it; she’s never laugh during sex as much as she has these past thirty-six hours with him.

To her mild surprise, the Doctor remains silent, today, not even smiling, simply…staring at her the way he was outside, the only sounds being their shortened breaths and the slight chatter of their teeth.

Rose is perceptive enough to understand that he is still affected by what happened out there, when she’d opened up to him, while he thought she was using him to talk to this _other_ Doctor, until they finally came to an understanding – that this was about _them_ and them alone.

The way it is now.

Truth is, he really doesn’t need to say anything at all, the intensity of his gaze saying more than any of his tirades ever could. From the moment they met, there always was a silent kind of communication going on between them, half-concealed by their more obvious, verbal one. They did not often acknowledge it, but it was always there, especially when they found themselves in tight spots.

It’s a language they are perfecting, now; the language of lovers, this one unique to them both.

When the Doctor leans down again, he does it more slowly, his forehead dropping to rest upon hers. Their next moves are a mirror image of what they were moments ago, his hands coming down to circle her waist, while she brings hers to his face, cupping his stubbly cheeks. As he goes back to kissing her, half-a-beat slower than before, his fingers slip under the wet fabric of her shirt; his palms are warm, so much warmer than they ever were in both his previous bodies. She instinctively arches into his touch, bringing her hips closer to his as her tongue comes to meet his.

She almost protests when he pulls away again, needing him _closer_, now, not apart, but he makes his intentions clear, grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head, the soggy fabric peeling at her skin. As he discards of it at their feet, gooseflesh erupts all over her body, her skin damp and cooling still, losing more heat to the room.

Her quivering breath tells him enough, pressing both his warm palms to her upper arms, rubbing up and down slowly in an attempt to create some friction, maybe hoping to share some of his heat with her.

Sinking a hand in his wet hair, she pulls his head down until his mouth and nose are pressed to her collarbone, her goose bumps worsening at the feel of his breath upon her sensitive skin. Her inner heat grows, spreading outward in thickening tendrils. His tongue joins his breath, tracing a curved line up to the base of her throat, before he begins sucking at her skin, causing her to sigh loudly, letting most of her body rest upon the door behind her.

His fingers go up her back, reaching the clasp of her bra. Despite all the practice they’ve had in recent hours, this is actually the first time he has to deal with it himself. Tinkering master that he is, she did not expect for him to be trumped by a couple of metallic hooks.

Yet here they are, the Doctor unpinning himself from her with a genuine frown, her bra still in place.

Rose bites on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from even smiling or teasing him in any way, in part because she doesn’t want to put an end to this more ‘wordless’ moment between them. More importantly, there is a soft blush already creeping up his face, obviously embarrassed by this very human shortcoming.

She gives his hair a slow caress while she finally smiles at him, not in mockery, the pull of her lips soft and patient. Soon, she lets go of his hair, turning around in his arms so that he’s facing her back, sweeping her wet hair over one shoulder to give him a better view of the tricky mechanism.

The Doctor does not immediately focus on it.

His fingers trail her skin, first, starting at her shoulders, moving slowly downward, inducing more shivers that have little to do with cold, this time, feeling the unmistakable tug of anticipation twists at her insides. It’s not the nervous kind, already too familiar with his touch to be nervous still, but there is a definite…thrill, at the thought of everything else that remains unfamiliar, not knowing yet what his next moves will be.

And she loves this, this irrefutable certainty that he is _here_ with her, and here to stay; that they have years and years stretching in front of them, thousands of days left for her to learn all of his moves, while he learns all of hers.

But this, right here, right now, is still somewhat new.

His fingers do eventually stop on the clasp of her bra, having a lot less difficulty unfastening it from that angle. As Rose starts wondering if she should turn back around, the heat of his breath on her nape answers that question for her, pinning himself against her back, his fingers already pushing the stripes of her bra down her shoulders. She barely has to move for the whole thing to slip to the floor, almost soundlessly.

She finds his hands as his arms come around her, covering them both with hers, and she’s not entirely sure who initiates the next move, if she’s guiding him, or if she’s following along; all she knows is that his warm palms are on her breasts, then, cupping and pressing lightly upon her nipples, which have become taunt from more than just the cold.

Rose has to let go of one of his hands as he pushes her forward in an attempt to increase contact between their bodies, instinctively pressing an arm against the door, resting her forehead upon it. She lets out a sound that isn’t quite a moan, but not quite a sigh either, pleasure trickling from her chest to somewhere much lower, his fingers now kneading her breasts while he sucks at her skin again at the curve of her neck, unable to ignore the hardening feel of him.

When his free hand goes down to her trousers to undo the button, he’s much more successful, popping it open with ease, before slowly pulling the zipper down…_very_ slowly. His fingers simply move back up, to lightly caress her skin just above the hem of her pants. Her impatience grows, along with that pulsing heat beneath her skin. As said fingers begin tracing the same path in reverse, not even _brushing_ the elastic of her knickers, Rose takes matter into her own hand – literally.

She lets go of the hand still on her breast and grabs at that other one, being much more straightforward and unabashed when she slips their fingers inside her pants.

She knows he could have carried on _not_ giving her what she wants, even with his fingers down where they are, but one thing she’s already learning to appreciate about him as a lover is that, while he loves to tease, he rarely pushes it to the point of real frustration, always too happy to give her what she wants – she highly suspects that he’s also physically incapable of restraining himself with her.

Judging from the hoarse sound he makes against her skin when she presses his fingers through the hot and slick feel of her, she’s definitely not the only one enjoying this, already feeling him pinning himself harder against her. Confident that his hand is going to stay where she wants it, she pulls hers out and reaches up behind her, grabbing for the hair at the back of his head.

His fingers work on her, thumb circling while long digits slide into her warmth, and whenever pleasure sparks from her core, she bucks against him, her nails grazing his scalp, inducing shivers after shivers. She experiences a contrast of sensations, burning from the inside out, her face and chest flushing as her skin begins to sweat, his scorching breath upon her throat, all the while feeling cold rain water trickling down her back, squeezed from the soaked fabric of his jumper.

How easy it would be, for him to pull down his jeans and take her right there against that door…how fast and effectively he would bring her to climax. The thought sizzles through her mind, partly because she wouldn’t be opposed to it, but also because that’s what she’s come to expect from her lovers.

The Doctor surprises her, reminding her once more that he’s not like these lovers she’s had in a past life.

He stills his movements, not exactly abruptly, but he does bring his hand out of her pants, resting it lightly upon her shivering stomach, while his other hand goes back to merely cupping her breast. He goes as far as pulling most of his body away from hers, although he rests his damp forehead against her shoulder, his hot, shallow breath once more burning her skin.

_This_, Rose is still not used to.

How he will consciously slow things down, or even come to a complete stop, whenever he finds himself overwhelmed by his own pleasure, so obviously reluctant to let himself go unless she’s made it explicitly clear that the focus is on him, and that it’s what she wants. She doesn’t know if it’s because he remains mostly alien at his core, or if it’s just _him_.

All she knows is that it makes her insides ache with the purest kind of love, and with a kind of longing for him that is not entirely pure.

Fighting her desire to simply reverse their positions, push him against the door and get those jeans off him anyway to see how well and how fast she can make him lose control, she lets go of his hair instead and pushes herself off the door to erase that small space between them. She’s found both his hands again, entwining their fingers together while encouraging him to do what she knows he wants to do, wrapping his arms around her and pulling him back snuggly against her.

He doesn’t hesitate, hugging her to him, breathing in deeply with his nose pressed to the curve between her shoulder and neck.

Rose begins to shiver again, her temperature already dropping back down, half-naked as she is with his soggy clothes pressed to her skin, her own hair still a wet mess. He notices, of course, pinned as they are, and releases her – fully, this time.

When she turns around, he’s already pulling both his shirt and jumper over his head, soon resting her hands upon his chest, his skin cool to the touch. She’s unable not to think about how _this_ is what his skin used to feel like – what little of it she ever got to touch back then, anyway.

When she raises her head and meets his gaze, words remain unnecessary, the look in his eyes letting her know he’s caught up with her train of thought. While he’d been willing to act like the other Doctor’s substitute only twenty minutes ago, he seems more eager to assert himself, now, sinking both his hands back into her hair to pull her to him.

She gasps into his mouth at the coolness of his chest against her breasts, but she doesn’t move back; she slips her arms around him instead, pinning herself more firmly as he deepens the kiss, in that slow pace she prefers, dutifully learned and assimilated. She finds herself leaning against the door again as their bodies warm the other up, so close to experiencing a full body flush when he makes his arousal known again by pressing it to her hip.

Since his hands seem quite reluctant to leave her hair, Rose sets hers into action, bringing them down to pop open his jeans at last. He helps her pull the rest of his clothes down, before doing the same to her.

They stumble towards the bed more than anything else, having yet to perfect that transition between ‘undressing’ and ‘smoothly landing upon the mattress’.

Not that it matters, in the end.

She’s above him, now, something they’ve experimented with a few times already, but never with this amount of light, she realises; even with the rain pouring outside, the dim light remains more than they’ve had in the middle of the night(s), as she’s already developing a habit of straddling him as a way to wake him up – something he’s yet to complain about.

Rose feels acutely aware of her own body, perched as she is above him, old insecurities trying to poke through that heated haze in her brain, caused by the simple fact that she’s _naked_ on top of an equally naked Doctor…a Doctor who is currently looking at her the way she’s seen him look at rather majestic sights throughout their space travel. The unpleasant thoughts scatter away at his unrelenting stare, unable to feel anything but warm and desired as his palms slide up her thighs.

Warm, desired, and sensual, too, watching as he’s forced to look away, his eyes rolling back, his entire body tensing, head thrown back, both her hands now wrapped and moving upon his heat, feeling him harden even more, his fingers clutching at her legs. Feeling daring, she lets him go to grab at his hands once more, leaning down over him and pulling his arms up, one at a time, until all four of their hands are near his head, her fingers sliding between his as she slowly moves upon him.

She’s not even attempting to join their bodies, merely relishing in a bit of mutual teasing, pressing herself along the length of him, keeping her mouth purposefully inches away from his, even when his lips part in a semi-silent gasp and his head briefly lifts from the bed, seeking her. She feels the tension in his hands, how he’s trying to reach out for her, but she tightens her grip on them, pinning him harder to the bed with her entire body. There is something irrevocably erotic in knowing he could physically overtake her without any trouble at all, yet he’s choosing to let her be in control.

This time, when she rolls upon him, his hips come up to meet her, moaning her name, the sound getting caught in his throat as she leans down and captures his lower lip between her teeth. She tugs on the plump flesh, just hard enough, feeling his fingertips digging into the back of her hands, shudders rippling under his skin. She shifts upon him, and with the next roll of their hips, the press of him upon her most sensitive spot is _just_ right. Pleasure spikes and she moans against his lips, instinctively releasing one of his hands to reach for his face, half-cupping his prickly jaw as her fingers curl in his hair and her toes curl in crumpled sheets.

His freed hand does not remain idle, coming around to follow the curve of her spine, before pressing down upon her lower back, his face tilting upward to initiate a clumsy yet fervent kiss, their noses bumping as his tongue glides over her bottom lip. His fingers are already on the move again, sliding from her back to grab at her bum as she fully takes part in the kiss; unable not to, she’s released him completely, her second hand buried in his hair as she rocks into him, drawing another hoarse moan out of her.

She’s not exactly surprised when he takes advantage of having the use of his arms back, opposing no resistance when he swiftly flips their positions over. With her knees high against his sides, he drives himself fully into her in one long thrust, causing her entire body to shake with anticipatory tremors. He feels it, she knows he feels it, feels how close she is, and he does not relent, slipping a hand between them as he pulls out almost completely. He thrusts back into her, then out again, once, twice, thrice, his thumb circling and pressing, and Rose comes hard with a rush of heat, sounds and dizzying sensations, clinging onto him even as she briefly escapes this plane of existence.

While she floats back down from the Ether, the Doctor stills above her. He’s still, tensed, and shaky, his brow furrowed in intense focus, his breathing shortened and loud, all obvious signs that he’s not come, yet, without even mentioning the unmistakable feel of him, deep inside of her.

He’s obviously trying to be mindful, remembering what she’d told him the previous day when he’d been a tad too eager, about how hypersensitive she becomes for a minute or two after a particularly intense orgasm, to the point of painful discomfort – something that never occurred often with her previous lovers, yet keeps happening with him.

This is another first, for them – Rose, coming before he does; they’ve had the occasional, well-synchronised big finish, but understandably enough, he often gets there before she does, although never by much. She cherishes this moment, taking it all in, the feel of him upon and inside her, the look on his face…the way he shudders hard and closes his eyes shut when she slowly runs her fingers through his damp hair, back to being its dishevelled, spiky mess, his face constricted in sheer concentration.

He drops his forehead upon hers with a choked-up moan when she eventually clenches around him, coaxing him into moving again, which he does without hesitation. She wraps her legs around him, tightly enough for him to feel her hold, yet loosely enough to give him full control over pace and one of his favourite things – angles, easily adopting his rhythm.

It’s impossible for her not to be affected by this, feeling the nascent pleasure gathering once more deep inside of her; she knows he won’t last long enough for her to get there again, from the tension in his body to the way he’s already missing beats in the swift tempo he’s set, and she doesn’t care.

She doesn’t care, feeling privileged simply to be privy to this, to him in this beautiful, vulnerable state, lost in the feel of her, in his pleasure of her, although even now, she knows it goes beyond the physical, always does.

He confirms it moments later, when he does something they haven’t done since they stood in the rain, overlooking the bay.

“Can you…” The words come out in a constricted breath against her lips, almost choked. “Would you…say it again?”

Rose understands at once what he wants to hear, what he needs her to say, a realisation that makes that place inside of her ache again, that place only he can reach.

She sinks her fingers in his hair, uses her grip on it to gently tug his face away from hers, so that their eyes can meet. His are hazed, slightly unfocused, yet burning with an intensity that is entirely _him_.

“I love you,” she tells him softly, if not thickly, because she does, and he’s quivering above and against her, for her, and because of her.

Already, his eyes have closed again, the sway of his hips as irregular as his breathing, and as his face comes back down to rest upon hers, droplets fall from his skin to her skin, a kind of salty rain she’s quite certain he doesn’t even know he’s making. 

She says the words again, and again and again, aware that she someday might drown in his downpour.

She’s all right with it.


End file.
